


we'll meet again

by audentis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Atonement Inspired, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, a mess rlly, double ending, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audentis/pseuds/audentis
Summary: We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know whenBut I know we'll meet again some sunny dayKeep smiling through, just like you always doTill the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	we'll meet again

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my fic for angst week day 1 this has been in production for the last 1 1/2 months which is the longest i've worked on a fic and this is my first 20k too so im kinda proud of it :)
> 
> this fic originally started as an au based on the movie Atonement (2009) but it kinda evolved from that i also got inspiration from We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn and Heaven Knows by Five For Fighting
> 
> this is also a belated birthday fic for my twt oomf so if you're reading this happy birthday, em! love ya to bits <33
> 
> P.S. Mind the Tags

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.

Keep smiling through, just like you always do

Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.

Fall, November 1943

It was not that brisk of a November evening which frankly surprised him. The weather forecast called for a record evening low, a cold front that they had been dreading with folded hands, and nipping teeth, yet the irony was Akaashi never minded the cold, it was an all too familiar feeling for him.

“Bokuto-san? It’s past curfew, where were you?”

The creaking of the rusted hinged stopped abruptly before continuing on the cacophonous hymn. The man who had just walked through said nothing at first, before simply sighing and resolving to the default evasion of:

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about it!”

But it was quite difficult to be left carefree in this world of travesty, where planes with bombs and wooden figures with guns drawn came running through rubbled streets hoping to avenge some ounce of nationalism that had not been drained from ink-stained blood. And this, the worry, well even if he were to not worry about where he had gone, he would have to worry about the restitutions that had followed him home.

“Bokuto-san.”

His words were perhaps colder than the autumn wind that swept through the worn-down steel of the peacefully oblivious town. He did have a talent for making the slightest niche sharper than the shrapnel that pierced still-beating atria that pumped red and blue. 

“It’s not important, you don’t have to worry yourself over my whereabouts, ‘Kaashi-kun.” He responded with a despondent flurry of a gloved hand. “Besides, I didn’t get caught.” was added to the end as if to give a reassurement that the law was in their favorable graces, despite knowing the consequential turmoil that would erupt from the volcanic maw in the slightest chance he had been.

“And what if you did?” The younger inquired, not the least bit amused at this concurrent disruption. 

“You would have been there to bail me out!” Telltale sparkles in the glistening gold could have tricked you into believing one Bokuto Koutarou, but this would be seemingly difficult to pour onto someone who had time in their fine graces, and a glare that could turn the sun into molten rock.

“What if I wasn’t?” His words were so beautifully lined with the comfort of an embrace, and it could have been one if it were not for such an impedding topic that had driven into their lane. Even in the waning candlelight, the figure at the entryway slumped forward at the sight of this unwinnable battle. A coat that should not have been done away with was thrown onto the rack, and he stepped into the glow of this eloquent, fiery dance. 

“Fine, it won’t happen again.” He said softly, too tired really for someone who had trodden on his doorstep at this ungodly hour on a furious Tuesday night. But then again, he was not known for any common calculability, and the only aspect of his being Akaashi could truly predict was the air of unpredictability that shielded him from the whipping winds that beckoned them to inevitable death.

Without another uttered word, he waded into the silent waters of the space they shared on the rare 7th floor, and Akaashi was once again left to watch the courteous dance the twin flames bared down, alone. Looking back at the rusted typewriter, he had already realized his non-intention of typing out his report for a deadline he had already pushed back two business days, but the illusion had to hold as to not alert the other to this fruitless endeavour he had buried himself in.

Oh god, if anyone were to think that they were in some kindred relationship, they would have been quite mistaken. There were casual jokes and jabs pertaining to this married couple sort of act, but the sordid reality that even if togetherness was an option for the masses, it would not be for them. It was ironic really, how he continued to wish upon tiny inanimate balls of flame that were so out of reach, you would not even hear their cries if they so desired too, but what was a world of travesty without a little bit of loveless hope? Sadly, he had gotten his full share of it multiplied over by the dozen.

A rerun of the rather foolish ideas that had emerged at the spur of the moment played a comical broken tape in his head as he pondered pouring liquid wax onto the crisp paper.  
  


_Dearest Koutar-_

  
  


“‘Kaashi, what’s that?”

The reemergence of the figure from the inky shadows startled him for he had not least expected it. The twin flames, still enamored in a courteous dance, did not give him the slightest warning either. How imprudent of them, to say the least. Bokuto careened his head precariously to come into sight of the smudged ink on paper. 

“A report I need to get done by tomorrow.” He said, attempting to drown the contempt, and the sudden unassuredness that manifested with every beat and syllable and rise and fall of each vocable expression. For a person who had the sordid ability of overthinking everything he laid his eyes upon, he had not prepared for this circumstance. It was, frankly, embarrassing. 

The older looked just as convinced as the flames helpful. “Do you need help?” He asked, still squinting through the gloom to get a better look at the inked parchment propped up in the platen rest. Akaashi hoped that he would not be able to see through to the inked letters of the draft that could have been the tenth or the twentieth or the thirtieth, he had stopped enumeration after they passed the ability to be counted on his nimble fingers.

He shook his head defiantly. “No, no, you should get some rest.” He waved a hand, gesturing for him to go to bed. After all, it had been a tumultuous day, like any other day perhaps, but still one full of denouncing struggle and light that had been snuffed out yet again. This need not be another source of worry for the already worrisome man.

He turned away, and the younger sighed a little in relief as he would not have known what he would reply to the question of why a letter ebbing with single-pathed love and crass affection was written to his name. “Could say the same for you. You look like hell.” He pointed to the shadows under his eyes that seemed to be darker than the room unlit by candlelight, and his weary expression that seemed to wear down by the flicker of light.

“Nothing a day of sleep can’t fix.” He murmured, rubbing the burn from his eyes.

Bokuto huffed indignantly, leaning against the creaking door frame. “That day isn’t coming anytime soon, is it?” He said with a mirthful laugh. He knew better than to believe this improbable claim.

“Nope. Not while we walk on hell on earth.” Akaashi shrugged, fingers laced together as he stared at the half typed out address. Should he continue on such a painful, yet pointless endeavour?

“Try at least.” Bokuto replied, wood creaking in response to the lifting of weight. “Won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead, yeah?” It was ironic, but the truth. It would do no one good if either of them died in such a pitifully ignorant way, especially at this era of history where it would be a much more thankless death to get buried under bomb-stricken scaffolding than it were to come down with pneumonia.

“There is some truth to that.” He said with a chuckle as he removed the paper from the ancient typewriter, carefully folding it and placing it on the indistinguishable stack where many more had gone. “Good night, Bokuto-san.”

* * *

“The war’s gonna end soon, ya know?”

It was cynical to even think that this had not been spun by the propaganda wheel. They should know, they were the central cog. Akaashi merely waved his colleague off with a pitiless sigh, not wanting to engage in this deceitful conversation especially after that gentle night of sleepless tosses and turns, and an ever wandering mind.

“How’d you know that? You see into the future now?” He decided to add to his initial dismissal, vexation quickly overrunning the usually passive tone. It was not like him to anger so easily, he preferred twisted passivity, but Kuroo had that effect especially when he intended for it.

“Troops are coming home, strategic areas are being retaken, it’s obvious where this is heading.” He said lazily, throwing his pen in the air, and catching it just as it was about the ink-stained nib stabbed his face. He was leaning precariously over the back of his chair too, which could have at least been considered some sort of workplace safety hazard.

“Alright, stop with the gossip.” A voice interrupted. “Don’t mistake propaganda for facts, Kuroo-kun. They’re sending them home ‘cause they’re too beat up to fight, and taking back the land we lost just means the enemy’s clustering up somewhere else.” 

“Which is a form of retreat, Kita-san.” Kuroo interjected quickly. “and retreat is a good thing.”

“Not in this neighborhood it isn’t.” He countered, which, coming from Kita, felt more like the decapitation of any hope of redeeming yourself rather than a simple counterargument. “Back to work.” He said, simply enough, and even Kuroo obeyed without a huff.

“Hard ass.” Kuroo murmured when the other was just out of earshot. He wasn’t doing any work, still, preferring to spin the fountain pen on its cartridge axis, and stain black the weathered wood than be of any more productive help to Akaashi who had all but stared in feigned amusement over the exchange. It was a daily reoccurrence, after all, a broken television with color. It was hardly anything to be entertained by.

Akaashi turned back to the mound of papers on his desk which he definitely had not placed there the night before. This was probably the nightly reports that he had offered to do in which in itself had been a pain-in-the-ass more than his sneering co-worker was. Kuroo, living up to that last unflattering compliment, again spun himself to Akaashi’s direction.

“What do you want, Kuroo-san?” He asked as he attempted to sort through the miscellaneous reports on baseless sightings of enemy aircraft apparently scouring the skies in search of their newest target over the metropolis, and ones Akaashi knew were passed in with fallacy in mind. It was a ploy to drum up either war support or hopes of a reward if claims turned out to be valid in some way. 

“Heard a rumor.” Kuroo replied simply enough but Akaashi knew better. In a hurricane of deceitful propaganda, and fallacious claims of heresy against the warring governors, this man was at the very center of its eye, and it was not uncommon for him to receive serendipitous rumors that he tried to make of as more interesting than it actually was.

“Kita-san just scolded you to stop it with the gossip.”

“I know, but this won’t hurt anyone.” He paused for a moment to reconsider his choice of claim. “Or maybe it might but that’s irrelevant.”

“Fuck off, Tetsurou. I don’t need to know if it doesn’t concern me.”

Kuroo didn’t flinch, not even when Akaashi had bothered to address him without the usual polite honorifics. “Geez, you’re almost as bad as him.” He said snidely, but he continued the battering nonetheless. “It does concern you by the way.” He chimed, slowly settling into a more comfortable position.

“What?” Akaashi immediately looked up from his work, a few papers fluttering to the concrete floor from where he’d sent a hand sweeping across the desk. He tried his best to stay clear of office gossip for the main reason of being used as a bargaining chip such as this case. He had not involved himself in any either, therefore this audacious claim was shocking to him to say the least.

“Your roommate.” Kuroo replied, eyes glinting dangerously knowing he had attracted his prey. 

Without the invocation of a name, Akaashi knew who he was referring to, and that did not allow his blood to boil any less. He did not know what Bokuto Koutarou had to do with this, but if Kuroo was so amused by this sudden pretense of interest, he would have to extract it from him. “And what about?”

“Slow down.” Kuroo said, signalling him to stop in his tracks.”First you’re gonna have to buy me a drink tomorrow night at the company function.” 

Akaashi sighed at the preemptive Faustian bargain. There was a reason why he’d been characterized as “scheming” for the reason that his so-called fair trades were made with the utmost disconsideration for your wallet, or ethical associations. “Might I refresh your memory, you offered up this speculative information? Frankly, you're not in a position to bargain.” He said plainly, trying to dissuade the continuance of this ridicule.

“Mhm, true, but then you’d never know what I have, and that would drive you nuts considering how much you’ve been swooning over him.” 

His face started to burn, although he couldn’t see any other reason why. He was sure he’d gone red too, just like he always did at any mention of his selective attractiveness. “I haven-.” He quickly reminded himself to feign ignorance at the atestment. It would do him better to not fan the fires of another one of Kuroo’s rumors. “Fine, one shot of Bacardi but that’s it.” He said grimacing at the negating balance. “Now what is it that you want to tell me?”

  
He could not pinpoint what exactly the other was thinking, but it was obvious he noticed his not-so-subtle dodge of a question that had been on the tip of his tongue for an undeterred period of time. He kept his mouth shut, however, deciding that it would be easier to extract from him once he’d gotten a little alcohol in him.

“Well, a little bird told me he was out past curfew last night.” He said quite innocently at that. “I don’t plan on reporting him or anything if that’s where you’re getting at.” He quickly added once he’d seen Akaashi go a little more wide-eyed than he already had been.

“I cannot confirm nor deny.” He said, attempting to restore the expression of neutrality which he stoically liked to maintain. How had Kuroo found out about Bokuto-san’s late night excursion? He would have gotten another drink extorted out of him if he’d asked therefore, he elected to stick to the indelicable script.

“So it’s true then?” His tone of voice seemed to indicate that this had not yet reached the climactic point. “Well, if he hasn’t told you yet, he was at the Lounge.”

Akaashi could have maintained the impartial expression, but his mind was running much too fast for it to stay on any longer than it had been twitching to be released. “It was Wednesday evening, why the hell would he be out drinking?” 

“There is the million dollar question.” He announced like he was a comical gameshow host. He had spread his hands much too freely however, hitting the side of the table in the process which rocked to the sound of vehement cursing. “You ask him.” He said, seemingly tearing up a little due to the flaring pain. It appeased Akaashi for a moment. “There was something else though.”

“And what was that?”

Despite the pain, his expression was clear. Akaashi huffed, but he had little choice. He’d waned on that promise of bipartial activity, and had not just embroiled himself in a game of extradition. He let out another defeated sigh which he seemed to be doing a lot lately. “I’ll double the shots if you tell me.”

“You must really like him.” Which was only responded to with a glare. “Anyway, he was being touchy with someone. Don’t take my word for it ‘cause Tweety Bird was pretty drunk as well, but well, if it wasn’t some booze-fueled hallucination, thought you should know.”

Whoever this Tweety Bird was, Akaashi wanted to pummel to the ground. This was any less truthful than the stack of reports on his desk. This claim, a blasphemous chime that his roommate, the one who radiated of innocence and daylight-fueled wonder would go out drinking on a weekday, and end up snogging a stranger he’d never met. He refused to even go out past curfew, but then again, he had the night before.

“Mhm, uh are you alright?” Kuroo asked, leaning over to him. He didn’t sound as snide as he had moments before which was probably telling considering the angry fumes coming from the younger. “You’re doing your silent, calculating face again.” 

“I’m fine.” He said before suddenly getting up from his desk, leaving Kuroo in confused bewilderment. He had not registered his movement until he passed through the exit of the room, by which time it was already too late.

“Kita-san, would you mind if I left early. There is something I forgot to take care of.” 

The other looked at him with that neutrality that he hoped to be able to keep up in the future. He cursed to himself for showing emotional weakness at this time and place. “At this hour, absolutely not.” He said, without an ounce of hope for reconsideration, but Akaashi decided that he would not be shut down so soon.

“I’ll work overtime next week to make up for it.” He offered before biting his lip, his mouth running before his mind had properly processed his thoughts. Maybe Kuroo was right to assume that this was not some ordinary preempting.

“We are built upon the small things we do everyday, Akaashi-kun.” He said nonchalantly. “Make sure that what you do does not affect the end results in a regrettable way.” Kita said before quickly shooing him away back to his desk. 

He remembered saying a grateful thanks before hurriedly collecting his things, and walking out the main door. Those words strangely stuck with him, and he would probably have another episodic existential crisis that night, but that was not what filled his tumultuous mind as he strode through the cold front that had settled down on the city. He was usually bothered by such brisk winds, but this time, he took no notice, and that ignorance stretched to pretty much all his surroundings. His sense of inanimate empathy only resurfacing at the behest of the apartment’s front door opening, and the look of confusion from the man sitting at the couch.

“”Kashi? Wasn’t expecting ya so early.” Bokuto exclaimed, turning from his position to get a better look at what was wrong.

“Where were you last night?” He stopped just in front of him, not even bothering to hang his coat before the questioning. “Truthfully.”

Bokuto only looked at him with a slight alarm, but there seemed to be something buried deep in those golden eyes that Akaashi could not quite place. “I told you not to worry about it. Just had something to take care of.” He said in a low voice, uncharacteristic of him, but what would have been expected from your roommate barging in on you, demanding to know where you were at an unsightly time of day.

Akaashi did not flinch, nor did he sigh in any sort of relief. He simply stood there rooted to the ground in a hypnotized kind of state of mixed admiration and distress. He’d started to develop a godawful migraine on the way here, owing to the biting frost. His disassociating lobes screamed an internal war, arguing whether to believe him or not, or whether the vagueness of the situation was even an acceptable answer.

“If there’s something you wanna tell me-” Bokuto started, slowly getting up as he noticed the placated stare on the younger’s face.

He shook himself out of the trance, berating himself for thinking so foolishly. Why would Bokuto try to deceive him in the first place? That in itself was a possibility so out-of-bounds that it was not worthy of being entertained. “No, it’s nothing, Bokuto-san. I was just worried.” He said with an apologetic wave as he went to drop his things off.

“You know you don’t have to worry about me, ‘Kaashi? I can take care of myself.” Bokuto replied, still unsure of what to make out of this situation.

Of course Akaashi knew that, and he trusted Bokuto implicitly, but how could he explain to the older that his feelings had gotten the best of him, and the hope for some kind of relationship past friendship had driven him to the point of insanity. “Yes, I know. It’s just that with everything that’s been happening, I’d like to be assured that you were safe.”

There was a moment of silence where the two chose not to say anything. It seemed the hypnotic trance was infectious as neither moved from their positions in the small apartment. “Uh...shouldn’t you be at work though?” The older pointed out, breaking the clamming awkward silence.

“I asked Kita-san for the rest of the day off. I have a headache I need to sleep off anyway.” The excuse was flimsy at best, but it was somewhat true. The pounding in his skull got worse, and he knew generic painkillers would not be of any help against the battling war gods.

“You want me to make you something for that?” Bokuto offered, surprise and mystery replaced with sympathy and a worried expression that Akaashi felt bad he had to wear. 

He shook his head, his guilt already rising up his throat, making him want to vomit. “A little rest will probably do just fine. Thank you for the offer, though.” 

“Mhm, I’ll keep your things, you go to bed.” Bokuto replied, and without bothering to wait for a rebuttal, he stole away the items he’d laid on the weathered dining table, and gestured to the unlit hallway. “Sweet dreams!” 

Sleep was an irony to Akaashi, or maybe it too was an allusion for what he so dreamed of arriving at. Whatever the case, it should have been rejuvenating to some extent, but it just reminded him of the black cloaked figure of death. As if to reaffirm that proposition, pain shot through his head the minute his eyes fluttered open from deathless slumber.

“Oh, you’re up.” Bokuto had arrived just as the second slash pricked his retinas, causing shadowed circles to dance before him in a hazy series of hallucinatory displays. “Drink that.” He said, pointing to the steaming cup at his bedside which undoubtedly contained some very high-grade pain relievers.

“How-”

“Your migraines never go away after sleep.” He shrugged as if it was common knowledge, and to him, it probably was. “I’d be a horrible roommate if I didn’t at least know that.” He said before looking over to Akaashi expectantly. He did not understand why, until of course he’d realized the throbbing off his head had drowned every last word out.

“Thank you.” He said, still a little blurry-eyed from the restless sleep he’d been having these last few nights. The tea was still hot, and it was nice against the pain, and he was truly eternally grateful that the bad dream he had just woken from had dissipated back into nothingness. Everything was fine.

“Mhm, my pleasure.” He said before sitting at the foot of the bed. Perhaps the nightmare had not been so fictitious after all, the far away look in Bokuto’s eyes still lingering as he gazed out the grilled windowsill to the greater metropolitan area. The week before, a bomb had decimated the Eastern portion of the city, and smoke still rose from the site. 

“Before I forget.” Akaashi added quickly as he noticed both of them getting lost in the wisps that curled into the angry gray sky. “They’ve called for the monthly function so we’re going out tomorrow. I might be a little late.”

“Oh, tomorrow?” Bokuto asked, startled back into reality.  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose in pain-fueled exasperations. Migraines would usually require doubled pain relievers to dissipate, but this one was persistent, and probably needed another few sleeps to wean it out. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I know Fridays are for us but-”

Bokuto shook his head rapidly, the energy that seemed to have been lost a while ago returning. “No, it’s alright! You have fun, yeah?” He said almost too suddenly.

Akaashi did not dwell on it, instead preferring to drift back into the nightmarish waters. At least then, he would not have to deal with the problems the world so loved to throw at his face. “Mhm, I’ll make it up to you on the weekend. We could go to the park Saturday evening if nothing comes up.” He added, not bothering to tell his already concerned roommate about the extra shift he’d offered to take.

“Don’t have anything to do for the weekend, anyway!” He said cheerfully before getting up from the position he had been settled in and shook the tired look from his eyes. “I’ll let you get some more rest, you need it.” The door shut, and all was quiet again, except of course for the winds that battered against the walls, and the ever chaotic cries from the twin war gods pounding in his head.

* * *

Fridays were for them, but the last day of the work week had been stolen away by some other social gathering that Akaashi was less than glad to indulge in. He did not detest social interaction, and he certainly did not hate his co-workers, but he did prefer the end of the tiresome week to be met with peace and one Bokuto Koutarou being the only deterrence from the silence.

Thankfully, it seemed everyone had burned out their last fuel cells and thus the chaos that often curtained the frequented bar did not come in full haste. Tonight, the only source of rambunctious chaos came in the form of Kuroo who was busy tipping shots out of the bottle of Bacardi he had extorted from Akaashi. True, he had only been promised two shots, but he was a benevolent trader and had only exchanged the booze for the small price of gossip about a certain someone if there be anymore.

It was envious to Akaashi that at that very moment, he himself could not descend into a drunken state of pity. Curse the gods for giving him the highest tolerance known to man, and curse them too for giving him responsibility over his blacked out coworkers. He too was envious of Kita-san who never bothered to show up for these gatherings. It was “mandatory” but no one had the guts to tell him that.

The alcohol was on the company though, this time and so he had no qualms about digesting a little more to test out how far he could go before tipping his glass over without meaning too. Unfortunately, that opportunity never came. His eyesight must have been bleary, and yes, the god awful headache was back as a consequence for overstepping an invisible boundary, but it had been four years, and he could have recognized his roommate anywhere, even if it was twenty feet away in an alcoholic state. 

He had not said a word about a gathering which was strange as both usually knew where the other was going, as well as what they would be doing and so on and so forth, hence the married couple jokes. So, you can understand why upon seeing Bokuto across the room in animated conversation with some people he did not recognize, Akaashi fell into a deep state of confusion. A thought nagged at him, as well, but he could not conjure up the memory of a recent conversation with one scheming colleague.

He took note of the scene: He was not alone, there were others who looked to be colleagues beside him at the table. He didn’t recognize any of them, but then again, he didn’t exactly accept invitations to embark on the many get-togethers they had which he regretted enough now. 

_What the hell, Keiji?_ He told himself to shut up, he was being too possessive when he was not even a position he deserved to be in. They were nothing more than roommates, and Bokuto was capable of holding his own in this sordid world, probably even better than Akaashi himself. 

“Akaashi-san, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, just another migraine. It’s getting late, are we leaving yet?”

“Some of us are if you want to come.”

He would not dwell on it tonight, he was probably not in the right headspace to be demanding preferential answers to unsolicited inquiries. Bokuto would explain tomorrow like he always did when there was something he had forgotten to mention. There was a possibility as well that Akaashi had just blacked out while he was being told. Either way, he need not worry.

Just as the brisk winds of November struck his skin, he turned back to see a blond wrap his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders.

  
  


He woke up the next morning with no grasp on reality, and little recollection of what had happened last night.

“Good morning, ‘Kashi-kun! Did you have a good time last night?” Bokuto asked the moment he stepped foot from his room.   
  


Was it a bad dream, an unfortunate nightmare? It was like nothing had transpired the evening before.

* * *

Fridays were for them, but the sentiment of the day’s wake was stricken with gloomy blues. It was the kind that made you doubt yet love, and hope yet cry all the same. It was a paradoxical headache, to be frank, and Akaashi hated the feeling of wading in its deep, deep waters. But the evening was considerably sweeter than all the rest, the winds were not harsh, the cold did not bite as they laid on the soft grass marvelling at the first clear sky in weeks. 

“We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when-”

The melody of course, was not out of place, but it seemed like such an irony in light of recent events. He had never taken Bokuto for a singer, to be fair no one would, but he supposed he’d sang the song enough to know all its highs and lows and syllabilic curvatures and his voice carried on its windless hymns so beautifully and delicately, and one Akaashi could not help but bask in.

“‘Kashi, you’ve been quiet.” Bokuto said, interrupting his internal dialogue with the non-existence rattling voice that loved to pester him. It was like whoever had sent him to walk on this goddamn earth had embedded a piece of their badgering persona into him in the process. He cursed at the sky and earth for that.  
  
“Hm? Oh. Sorry.” He allowed himself to once again feel the grass tickle his skin, and the warm air blanket him in rare comfort, allowing them to pull him from the inky depths of thoughts that no one would want to witness. He knew, however, that he would have to return there one day.   
  
“Is everything alright?” The other asked concerned, not minding the fact that his cheek had been coated in dry dirt as he rolled over to the side.   
  
“Yes, I just have a lot on my mind.” He did not wish to elaborate just what was on his mind.   
  
“You wanna tell me?” On the normal occasion, Bokuto knew better than to ask, but this was one of those rare ones where the silence had evidently become lined with epitomal mystery.   
  
“It’s nothing.” Akaashi responded with a dismissive wave.   
  
Bokuto seemed to get the hint and rolled off his side. “But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.” He sang, finishing where he had left off before the silence interrupted.“Say, Kashi. What are we going to do when this is over?” He asked, but this time it was not lined with concern or pity. It was wonder, a strange sense of conjectural marvel as his eyes filled with the brilliant stars from the black night sky. 

Akaashi shrugged as best as he could. “Haven’t decided actually, figured that it's best not to think about things that might not be a possibility. What do you have in mind?” He asked his companion. Neither of them faced the other, it was much easier gazing at the constellations that stretched the horizon.  
  
“Live peacefully.”

The request did not surprise him, but he let out a little giggle at hearing of it. Bokuto did not laugh, but he smiled almost teasingly, understanding the comicality of it. “Well, that’s what we all want, but that could be the most impossible of all our desires.”

“But isn’t it a nice thought? That one day, we’d be able to walk through the city without worrying about a bomb being dropped on our heads, or living freely without fear of seeing the next day?” His voice was dangerously wistful. In this day and age, it was a dangerous emotion to cultivate, especially when even the next sunrise was an uncertainty. Akaashi knew better than to speak as its representative, but Bokuto had never been one to ignore optimism, even if it came at wickedly low odds.

“It could be, but this is a time for realism rather than optimism, and it would crush more to know that what you dream for is not reachable, and the hopes little more than empty promises.”

“Let’s live in the countryside.” Bokuto hummed, apparently ignoring the half-hearted rebuke.  
  
“What?”   
  
“Yeah, it’s nice over there. Out of the way, away from the noise like how you want it to be. We could watch the stars every night too, not like here where this kind of clarity is rare.” He said, tracing the invisible lines of constellations with his finger as if he could rewrite the stars with a very flick of his wrist.   
  
“It is a nice prospect.” Akaashi said, apparently letting go of the troubled thoughts he had been harboring only minutes before. There was just something so entrancing about the prospect that had been set before him and the one who had given to him in the first place. “We could get a dog too.”   
  
He had set that sarcastically “Yeah, let’s name him or her Hoshi!”   
  
What was he doing? He did not know, but it was so much easier to pretend the world was a benevolent being rather than the wicked backstabber it had shaped up to be. It was pretentious, yes, but it was also more enchanting than any easy-going dream he had had as of late. “Star? You want to name your dog, Star?”   
  
“Yeah, and Hoshi’s gonna be our dog. You could also start writing, maybe publish a few of those manuscripts you used to talk about.” Even under the cover of night, his eyes gleamed like the molten gold of Sol, yet not as violently whipping. In his own right, he could have outrivalled the morning sun. Akaashi kept those thoughts to himself.   
  
“What about you then? If I were to become an actual author, what would you do?”   
  
“My future ended the moment the war started, ‘Kashi-kun.” He said with a sad note which made no sense to the younger. With his unwilting optimism and fiery passion, Bokuto had more of a chance at conquering the world than any of them did. “I’d probably still be able to find a job, but nothing that I would really love. Hey, you know the prospect of being a house husband doesn’t seem so bad.”   
  
Thank god he had been lying down, because if he had been standing, he would have tripped on his own feet. He choked on his words all the same. “A what-?”

“You know how they make those jokes about us being a married couple and stuff? Yeah, if I make it through to the other side, I’ll settle down, do the chores and take care of Hoshi!” Bokuto said, all too excited at this unexpected prospect. Akaashi was probably still a little pale.

“And why wouldn’t you make it through?” He asked, mentally slapping himself to regain his composure.

“Because you’ve always been the stronger one out of the two of us, and it’s much easier to believe that the scales will have to tip, and one of us isn’t gonna see the peace.”

If he had already paled at his previous earth-shattering statement, Akaashi must have gone ghostly white. He admits his heart must have stopped for a second there, and his lungs turned to stone. The earth seemed to swallow him whole at the imagery of those words. Bokuto seemed to note his sudden stupor as he quickly bolted up and stared at him wide-eyed.

“Hey, hey, hey! I’m sorry, ‘Kasghi, did I scare you?” He asked rapidly looking him up and down to make sure he had not induced a heart attack in the other.  
  
“No, it’s alright. I just passed out there for a minute.” The words managed to roll off his lips, but the rest of his mind was still darting, unable to hone in the storm that had started to once again churn. He closed his eyes to steady his breathing and gripped the earth, determined to keep himself anchored. “The world might come to an end tonight, or tomorrow, or in the very near future when lands start to burn up, and lives shatter from the destruction, but I know you’ll make it out alright.”

“How’d you know that?” Bokuto asked, horror and concern replaced with gullible curiosity.  
  
“Sagitta, the arrow.” Akaashi said, lifting a heavy finger in search of the streamline figure amongst the thousands of glowing orbs. He traced along until he found the one he was looking for.

Bokuto followed with his gaze, squinting at the patch of sky that teamed with luminosity. “I don’t see it.”  
  
“It’s one of the faintest constellations in the sky, it exists but other brighter star systems tend to cover it up so you have to look up for a bit before you start to see it.” He explained. Sure enough, there it was. Under the cover of sheets of light, the small inconspicuous arrow, shot from the great bow of Sagittarius into the grand unknowns of the universe.   
  
“I think I see it now, it’s small. Where does it point?”   
  
“Home.” It was his turn for the wistfulness to carry his voice. “That is why it is my favorite amongst the billions of stars, because if you feel lost or homesick wherever you may be in the world, all you have to do is look up from your feet and catch a glimpse of it, and like a compass’ needle, it’ll always lead you home.”

The lone star at the arrow’s point seemed to twinkle in agreement.

* * *

Winter, January 1944

“House-husband? That’s really what he said?” Kuroo asked, half disbelieved and half wildly amused. He’d taken it upon himself to be Akaashi’s unofficial “wingman” which was rather iconic considering he himself could not confess his little crush on his best friend, but he digressed.  
  


Akaashi gave a curt nod, but he too had been pondering over this for weeks on end. It had driven him to the point of insanity and back, and had made him so concurrently desperate, he approached his ever-so scheming colleague for help to which he happily obliged in which time Akaashi had realized he’d made a mistake. 

“And this happened two months ago, and you never bothered to tell me?” Kuroo asked in mock offense.  
  
Akaashi huffed indignantly in response to the interrogative accusation. “You are not the best at keeping secrets. You are not the first person I would think of to ask relationship advice from either, Kuroo-san.”

“You wound me, Akaashi-kun.” He said, again in mock affrontation. He was hanging off his chair again quite dangerously but he seemed to take joy in the sight of Akaashi going a little pale everytime the wooden leg tilted on its intangible axis. “Ya know what? You should just tell him. It’s about time your little game ends.” 

Akaashi laughed a little, thinking that it was another stupendous joke until of course he realized Kuroo was about a hundred percent serious on the request. The comicality changed to brief pondering which morphed into exasperated hesitation before finally reverting back to the regular program of sheer denial.

“I can’t do that.” He said with a shake of his head. It was a god awful request too, they both knew it was an impossibility. Was he being mocked?

“Because you can’t or you refuse to?” Kuroo asked matter-of-factly, still unwilling to let go of the sordid proposition. Akaashi was surprised at the effort he was putting into trying to convince him because the facts of the matter stood clear. Reality could not be changed to fit your desires.

“You know which one it is.” 

“Actually I don’t.”

He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel an onslaught of a headache emerging from the depths of the tidal wave of thoughts. Akaashi was not one to dabble in social commentary and the ways society conducted its business was often left to be unspoken about, but this was on a benchmark of its own, and Akaashi would rather leave it untouched. 

“Why the fuck do you let society dictate your life?”

And just like that, the lid of Pandora’s box had flown open and all hell had started to rage in the midst of an already tumultuous mind. He had not meant for it to be opened, but he supposed it was an inevitable part of any discussion concerning civil dictatories. 

But which sector of civil society do we refer to? That confused a lot of people considering society was at a hell’s point at the very moment. Choice of partner should not have been high on the list of things to do either, not when you did not even know whether you would survive to see the next sunrise if any came. But society had built itself on this foreign construct that was love, which was by far the most misleading thing that had ever emerged from humanity’s symphony.

“Society doesn't adjust to our liking, so we must conform to society. That’s how it’s always worked.” He said, merely shrugging. That was the reality they lived in, after all. There was no use in fighting or objecting ruled mandates that were set into imaginary stone.

Kuroo pondered the thought for a moment before a bored yet annoyed expression formed on his face. He had never been one to obey when told, and Akaashi guessed the prospect of conformity did not appeal to him in any way. “Well, it’s about time that changed, don’t you think?”

* * *

If Kuroo had meant that as some sort of prompting, it had worked, and as Akaashi stood in the frigid cold in front of their shared apartment on the corner of separation between the urban metropolis and the somewhat rural townside, he could not help but think he had misinterpreted the gesture. But, nothing could be done, he’d made up his mind. It was probably the shot of liquid courage that rocked in his gut because in normal circumstances, he would have absolutely no desire or rationality to attempt something so utterly stupid.

_Calm yourself, Keiji._

Why had he decided to do it here instead of in the much warmer apartment? Well, he decided that the frost had to at least account for something. Maybe, if his will decided to give out before anything could be said, it could be attributed to a trick of the wind. Perhaps, if he started to get the idiomatical cold-feet, he could point to the literal frostbitted air and blame it on whatever natural occurrence had started to take place over the city. 

He steadied himself against the metal fence that lined the building. He had not thought this through as clearly as he would have liked because the cold January wind had to knock some sense into him, making him realize,

_What if he’ll reject me?_

He would have liked for the universe to pause at that very second and give him some time to think, but the architects were not so kind as to warrant a rotational stop just so that a careless romantic could run away from the fleeting thought. If anything, they were cruel beings, and so when time was to be stopped, instead it ran.

“‘Kaashi!”

He told himself to breathe but he could not. His lungs seemed to burn against the glacial frost that coated the air in icy sheets. He told himself to calm down but the onset of a nauseous haze started to collect, and it felt as if even metal was bending to the will to run and hide and be done with the comical world. He told himself that this was not going as expected, and for once he agreed.

“Bokuto-san.” He said courteously to the figure who had bounded from the winter haze. He was accustomed to his lone arrival but there was another with him, one he did not initially see through the fog. “And you are?” “Miya Atsumu.” He said as he ran a hand through the mess of a bad hair job. He was a little bored by the sound of it. “But er, Atsumu is fine. I don’t like associating myself with my brother.” He made a face at the self-proclaimed mention of his sibling before returning his attention to Akaashi. “Bokkun has told me a lot about you.”

Akaashi must have blinked a few times while he stood there in shock. It was ironic to him. He hated the cold, but no matter how much the frost nipped at his thin-skinned being, it only took a single one-sided observation for the glacial cold to take control. “Oh, uh-”  
  
“Tsumu-tsumu was just dropping me off ‘cause he lives nearby!” Bokuto butted in, apparently not sensing the increasing tension, but from the way heat seemed to crawl up his neck, it could have just been Akaashi’s imagination.   
  
“Yeah, I’ll be going now though.” Atsumu said, waving vaguely at no one in particular. “Take care, Bokkun, and nice meeting you, Akaashi-kun.” He said before turning on his heel, coat billowing as he sauntered down the stone road that led to the darkened smoke stacks of the urban metropolis.

“C’mon, ‘Kashi! It’s freezing!” Bokuto said without another word, bounding up six landings and seven flights of stairs humming a strange tune Akaashi had never heard of. It was at that instant when the thoughts started to flood into his head, and an ever prevalent realization hit him harder than the January winds.

_Bokuto-san, I like you._ Was what he meant to say.

“Bokuto-san, who was he?” Was what he actually said.

  
  
He turned back momentarily before hopping onto the final landing that separated the door of their apartment from the steep descent down into the darkened stairwell. “Oh, he’s new at work, started a few weeks ago, I think?” He said with surety and uncertain confusion all the same.   
  
“So you two get along?” Akaashi asked half aware of the affrontive nature that this conversation had taken too. “You’re not too lively for him?”   
  
Bokuto gave him a small pout, and Akaashi almost felt bad. “Hey, hey! I’m not that hyper!” He said with a tone of voice that suggested he had ingested one too many caffeinated drinks for his own cynical wellbeing.

“Well, you’re unusually energetic now. Anything you wanna tell me about?” He said on a more teasing note than anything, but he had noticed a dramatic spike in already fluctuating energy levels and he could not help but inquire on the nature of the phenomenon.

“But I’m always happy!” Bokuto replied defensively.  
  
“Mhm.” Akaashi hummed as the rusted hinges creaked at their arrival. “Take off your coat, you’re going to catch a cold.” He said as reference to the damper front that was billowing outside in the midst of the sheets of sleet.

He should have noticed something was off when he had to repeat the request thrice before Bokuto registered.  
  
  


* * *

Spring, March 1944

While the winter of 1944 came in a bitter rush, the spring came much more delicately. It was not likened to the dying light of glacial frost, but rather the youthful chime of evergreen leaves uncurling and warm petals unfolding. It was a magical sight to behold amidst the backdrop of silvery smoke and aerial booms that had now dominated the skies in a catalytic bound.

Yet the glacial front still bore down on Akaashi. He had blamed the consistent migraines, and the backlog at work but the unavoidable truth stood before him, and he knew he would have to take a sip from the crystal glass soon enough whether he so desired to or not. He would have preferred a shot.

“Bokuto-san?”

“Hm?” He’d been doing that more frequently than should have been cared for, and Akaashi could only help but notice that not only did he slip into more dazes, but he too had become worse at hiding them from the younger. “Sorry, ‘Kashi, just tired.” He would always say. It was believable at first, and Akaashi believed him even after that, at least he wanted to believe since he had no reason not to.

_It’s probably nothing._

“Do you have plans this weekend?” He asked as the last of the dishes were placed back into the cupboards.

  
He looked under the weather but that was to be expected considering how little rest he took over the past few weeks. Akaashi had hoped that it was merely the winter blues, and that with the arrival of Lady Spring, the ecliptic stress would be lifted off his shoulders, if that were truly the cause for this. 

“Mm, maybe the night out with Tsumu-tsumu. Why?” He asked, still a little dazed from staring at the sunlight that was streaming through the open window. It was not like him to be so, dare he say, nonchalant.

Akaashi only shrugged, not wanting any alarm bells to start ringing in their collective consciousness. “You were busy last Friday, and the Friday before that. You have been coming home later and later as well.” He had not originally tailored his statement to include such an accusatory nature, but it was done to appease the spiteful side of his ego.

“Kashi! I told you it’s nothing to worry about.” Bokuto responded, fully awake from whatever blissful daydream he had intertwined himself in. “It’s just that work has been hectic with the Northern Campaign and all that. You can understand that, right?”

  
  
In all truth, Akaashi could have, but did not. His roommate had started to return to their apartment later and later as the seasonal frost blew by the window. It had been eleven in the evening a few weeks ago, then thirty minutes were added, then a whole hour. Come to think of it, it was twelve thirty last night which was well past any curfew mandated. But before claims of authoritarian behaviorisms could be spewed, Akaashi would have honestly turned a blind eye if the apartment did not start to reek of alcohol the minute Bokuto walked through the door.

“I was hoping we could go to the park again on Friday, we have not done an outing recently.” 

“I’ll check in with Tsumu-tsumu then!”

Akaashi could only manage to mumble a subtle agreement before Bokuto bounded off to god-knows-where leaving him to rot in his thoughts. There was a thought, though, among the whirlwinds that seemed to strike him down whenever the name of one was mentioned. Had it just been his imagination as well, to think that Bokuto was saying Atsumu’s name more and more, even in discussions that showed no apparent relevance to him? Then again, it was probably just him, like how the rabid tension that crawled up his neck in that fateful first meeting was his alone. It was probably just his mind’s way of saying that he had become too possessively overprotective of one who did not need any of the sort. 

He had not confessed that day, neither had he any time past that. He had not spoken to anyone about these sordid feelings either. He supposed the incident had pushed them back down the dark tunnel they had come from. But despite this new found notion of acceptance and convolution all rolled into one, the thoughts that whipped through the typhoon still continued to bother him, playing a cacophonous song at the back of his mind, one he had learned to push away. But, as if the world could not tip on its upside anymore than it already had for this convoluted mind, the drafting started. 

It was a strange tactic, but the warfront was raging, and with little hope of an armistice, the image of strength had to be prolonged. No one was exempt either, it did not matter if you worked for the government or for the private sector or if you had any work at all, they would simply pull you from your roots, and whisk you away to a bath of blood and tears and empty cries of those unwilling to fight in a war that merely served the interests of the few.

“Kuroo-san?”  
  
“They got me, Akaashi-kun.”

“Come back home.”

“Hm, I’ll try.”

  
  
It was all you could ever say, and even that was ungratifying meaningless. But what would you say to someone who was being forced to abandon home, and live on the battlefield where it was anything more than a haven for death? The prospect of coming home was enough to warm frozen bones, and burn away the enigmatic sorrow that befell those who wandered into no-man’s land not in search of pride and honor like the warriors of old, but survival and a hold on the taught thread of life that promised you passage home, if there was any to be returned to.

“You’re in the Office of Public Information, they consider you essential personnel so they would probably not select you.” He had told Bokuto one time. It was on a day that bordered both the waning of winter and the arrival of spring, and thus the air, despite the cold, seemed to team with life and warmth that had not yet come.  
  
“It is you I am worried about, Bokuto-san.” He said, concern equivocal in his tone. The soft grass welcomed them into the comforting hold as they looked up to the stars, the last night that it would be clear for months if the forecast were to be believed. But, despite the ticklish embrace, there was no warmth nor comfort in the air around the two.   
  
“Me? You worry too much, ‘Kashi!” Bokuto said with a laugh that restored some of the levity that had gone on winter’s trail. “I’ll be fine whatever they decide to do with me. Besides... “ He pointed to the skies, to the eastern tip of the arrow that led homebound. It was faint, yet to them, it could have glistened with the light of ten thousand iridescent suns. “It always points home right?”

Come to think of it, that was the last time he had heard Bokuto laugh before his world went spiralling. It was also the last time they had gone to see the stars and one of the last of their special outings that usually took place on a wayward Friday. It was strange how much he thirsted for another moment like that.

* * *

Spring, May 1944

The spring still hung around in the youthful month of May. If anything, it was probably the most lively of any month you could pinpoint in the last few years, if you were to, of course, discard the carnage that was still ebbing through the rivers and lands of the world stage. Yet, May has always been a defiantly unpredictable month for Akaashi. The cusp between the cheerful spring and the warmer summer glow seemed to latch on the boundaries of normalcy and do away with any remote hope of peace. In this capacity, it would have been wrong to say that it had defied expectations this year. 

“Miya-san?”  
  
“Atsumu-san.” He corrected as he took a seat at the table. Atsumu was the same as last time, same conceited attitude, and smug smile on his face. Akaashi took note of his piss yellow dye job because in his opinion, he needed a better one and he did not say that spitefully.

“How did you get the message on my desk?” There was a time for pleasantries, there was a time for sniping crass. Akaashi was not sure which this fell under.

Atsumu shrugged, seemingly unable to sense the cursable evil eye Akaashi was aiming at him. Of course, it was either that or he did not care which seemed like the more plausible choice considering the sheer aura he seemed to emanate. “Kita-san and I go way back, and you’re right next door to the office so it wasn’t too hard.”

Office? Didn’t Bokuto say they were colleagues? Akaashi was pretty sure his roommate did not work next door. If he had indeed been doing so in secret which had a possibility range of 0, Akaashi would have noticed either way. He swallowed down the confusion, however, as to not crack the stoic expression. “So what was so urgent we had to meet within the day?”  
  
It seems he should not have worried about cracked demeanor because as soon as he asked, the slyness on the other side of the table withered. “I had a thought.” Atsumu started, before pausing for a moment to decide what words should be said. “And uh, it’s not what it looks like.”

Decidedly so, they were probably not the best ones. Akaashi looked at him with contempt and even more bubbling confusion rolled into one. There was a thought that crossed his mind, but he wished not to entertain it despite knowing he would have to spoon enough.

  
“Bokkun and I aren’t dating.” Atsumu said finally after what seemed like hours of placated stares and accusatory glares which were perhaps more one-sided than was intended.

“And why would I assume that?”   
  
“I’ve seen the way you look when I drop him off.” The other replied accusatorily. Akaashi had not seemed to notice this, although Atsumu was probably not wrong. Akaashi had never been good at hiding his emotions especially in situations that charged them to full capacity. “I’m just tryna be a good colleague, yeah?” He added with an irritated click of his tongue.

A second or a minute must have passed by before the awkward staring match between the two dissolved. “You’re not convinced?” Atsumu asked, eyebrow raised and yet again, another irritated click. At the rate he was going, Akaashi himself was getting irritated from his irritation and one more would have sent him over the edge.

“It’s a little difficult coming from you.” Akaashi admitted, still eyeing him contemptuously.

Atsumu was an expert at irritating others. He counted to five before huffing indignantly, rummaging through his pockets for something until he produced what looked to be a paper. Akaashi’s first thought was a business card which he would have flat out burned in the fireplace. The item in question was not a card, in the mere second it was swiped in front of his face, he recognized the vague figure of a man.

“Who’s this?” He asked in response to the reasoning of this stunt.  
  
“My boyfriend.”

He blinked several times before he registered the thought. “I didn’t know.” He said plainly, as Atsumu glanced at the picture one more time with a strange kind of tenderness before slipping it back into his pocket.  
  
“That I date men or that I’m in a stable relationship with one?”   
  
Akaashi’s first thought was that it was unfair, which was followed by comical irony. The universe really did play favorites, he mused to himself in his dangerously passive manner that made nerves across the room jolt up. Even without fully understanding his thoughts, Atsumu had probably felt that steely cold from the way he tapped his fingers nervously on the worndown table.

“Bokkun knows, by the way.” He said in an apparent effort to break the silence. If this was his true attention, Akaashi did not take the bait, the typhoon of thoughts in his head had not stopped churning yet, and subsiding would take a couple more minutes, in which time he would stare at the other in utter placcidity. Of course, he did not need to, but it amused him to some extent.  
  
“Do you believe me now?”   
  
“Whatever you say, Atsumu-san.” Akaashi said monotonously, sniping the last honorific before pushing himself from his seat and trotting over to the entrance, not bothering to look back at the other who continued to sit in slight confusion and brewed chagrin all the same.

The summer winds were much more permeable than the winter frost, but Akaashi had felt choked by any sort of stray breeze. Yet, as he exited through the door the same way he had that fateful November night, he breathed in intoxicating relief, a first of many he hoped.

* * *

“What is it, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi swore there was a ragged blush coming over his face. He could tell by the way it burned and awashed him in invisible flames, he’d felt it too many times not too. This instance however, like many others, was merited. Bokuto had been staring at him for the past twelve minutes.  
  
“You’ve been a lot happier.” The other said, resting his chin in his hands, unbothered by the fact that a slight twitch would cause him to catapult face first into his plate of food. Akaashi shot him a quick raised eyebrow before returning to sort out the mess at the sink he’d made earlier, careful not to let Bokuto see the angry red burning.   
  
“Mhm, it is nothing. Do not worry about it.” His voice was strained, the burn had reached his throat and was coaxing him to expel every romantic emotion known to man right there on the spot even if it would cost him his head. But it was the truth. These past few months have been a glacial stone jutting from the chambers of his heart, it had hardly been anything but breathable. Yet, it had been a few days since the fortunate meeting at the tavern and it felt like that jagged rock along with the rest of the world’s weight seemed to lift off his shoulders.   
  
“Why would I worry if you’re happy? There something you want to tell me?” Bokuto curiously asked, leaning forward even more than he had been the second before causing the table to physically tip off the ground and its contents to slide backward which almost gave Akaashi a bigger heart attack than the one he was already having.

“Your food is going to get cold. Maybe later.” He said, brushing a few strands of hair from his face as he waved for him to be careful with the old dinnerware. They were expensive and hard to find after all, and he did not need another thing that could not be afforded to be added to his extending list.

Bokuto murmured a quick apology before righting the precarious angle at which it was tilted, but he still had not given up on his pursuit to solve the mystery surrounding the younger’s jolted mood. “‘Kashi, are you feeling alright? You look like you’re burning up.” He said looking at him with concern instead of teasing curiosity.

 _Shit_. Akaashi had not realized the rosy blush had gotten as fiercely red as it had. He could not see it but the mere touch of fiery heat on tingling nerves was enough to chip away at the last bits of cold air that had streamed through the open pane.   
  
“I’m-uh...fine.” He shut the window and curtained it close in an effort to hide the red. _I love you? Please be mine?_ If Bokuto were to continue on this rampant questioning, frankly he did not know what he would say.   
  
“Now you’re really starting to make me wonder what’s up.”   
  
“I’d rather you ask me anything else.” 

Bokuto paused for a moment, seemingly in thought. Akaashi should have noticed that this was no ordinary thought when his eyes started to glaze over and an expression too passive to be anything but hypnotically peaceful formed on his face. But there was a difference to the latter: He did not notice, neither would he have had the guttural sense to view this under a microscopic lens.

“Mhm, ok then. Does Tsumu-tsumu seem like he would want a committed relationship?”  
  
A pan dropped to the bottom of the steel basin. Akaashi had not meant to drop it of course, but the levity had not prepared him for this sort of discourse, and it had at the very least, surprised him in some comically sordid manner. “What-?” He choked out.

Bokuto seemed to realize the weight of his inquiry a little too late for both of their sanities. “I’m just wondering, ‘Kashi! Don’t get any ideas!” He said, wide-eyed, jolting so rapidly, he almost tipped the whole table forward.  
  
Akaashi gripped the counter, trying to get a hold of the fluctuating beating of his heart. It was nothing, as always he tried to convince himself, but the curse that was a climax of dreamlike gaiety to the grand fall to the stone ground had caused his head to pulsate to an extent where it could be described more as a pounding. “Mhm, well if he is not, he would not be in a relationship, would he?”   
  


He supposed they were equally as bad with words. He had meant that as more of a reassurance to himself, taking comfort in the fact that Bokuto had meant that as a joke more than anything. That comfort wavered as soon as he saw the blank expression on the other’s face.

  
“What?”

  
 _Bokkun knows, by the way._ Atsumu had told him that specifically, had he not? Or was this another wicked joke and that he’d dreamed up that whole situation. He remembered it vividly therefore it must have been a tangible experience. “He- I thought you knew.”   
  
“He...never told me he was dating anyone.” Bokuto stammered out, eyes again glazed and cloudy, but it was different from last time. If the previous could be likened to an overcast of soft, white cumuli, this was a nimbus hale, grey and crackling with liquidated lightning and salted drops of rain.   
  
“Shit, I’m sorry. I should not have said anything” Although, it would probably have been more right to apologize to the one who was not immediately present.

“Bokuto-san, are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah, um...ya know what?” He said too quietly. It was almost as if he had slipped back into one of those dejected moods he had taught himself to rid all those years before. He pushed back his half-eaten plate and stood up. “I’ve been feeling a little sick lately. I’ll head in early.” was all he said before he headed down the dark hallway leaving Akaashi to ponder the thought of agonizing hurt alone.

* * *

Fall, September 1944

The silence was strange. Not in the sense that he did not enjoy it, but also not in the sense that he had any liking for this one. It was a paradoxical mystery that Akaashi had cooked up in his head amidst the already pounding whirlwind, and it all centered around one Bokuto Koutarou. There had been something off about him for the past few months, silent moping, a little more daydreaming than what was comfortable with someone who used to be as energetic as him. It was like a warped version of reality where everything had been completely flipped upside down.

He was worried, of course he was, but he could not understand what was causing this distress in the first place. Every attempt he had made at open communication, he had dodged at all turns. Communication itself was a dangling wonder and the silence was an ever revolving consequence of the abundant feeling that something should be said which lingered static in the air, conjoined to the lack of any attempt at dissipating it.

But it was in his nature to suspect, and he suspected many things, but over the months one had become quite clear: Miya Atsumu. Of course, he was not the type for confrontation or any sort of affrontive behavior to those who had not wronged him in any sort of physicality but he could not help to think that the supposed colleague had something to do with this timely quiet. 

Again, it was in his nature to suspect, and that did not mean that his perceptions were correct. Perhaps it was another non-event that he had mistaken for something too dramatic for his own good, but the existence of that non-existential ‘something’ bothered him to a point of rage-driven dabbling in business he had had no original intent of involving himself in which caused him a little more than a few bottles of booze. And so did the boy with the storm in his head try to find a way through this conundrum using every mortal will he had at his disposal.

What he did not know was, in the midst of the typhoon sat the universal spindlers who spun Lady Fate’s web of dreams and hopes and intertwined was the good graciousness of reality itself. The golden lifeline if you would, it was present in all, and it was said that once yours snapped, it would be the end of your universal luck as you knew it. And like all benevolent spirits as they were, it only took a momentary snip of shears to set the thread from taut to broken to which Fate would drain your life force into the stars. Akaashi’s had been knawed on for far too long, and the universe did not take kindly to dangling survivors. 

“Bokuto-san?”

The gold thread of fate dangled over the older’s head, taunting and goading as the sunlight hit its vain glory. This was a nightmarish dream, one of its spindled creations, it had to be. He was going to wake up, he knew he was like he always did when the world stopped spinning and the heart dropped into the ink-stained abyss. Bokuto could not even look him in the eyes. 

“You’re leaving.”

It was no more than a whisper but it could have been the cacophonous winter storm. It howled and swirled in an empirical dance of tumultuous cries and agonical symphonies, and in the midst was a thread that should have snapped, but stood as still as ever. The storm did not hurt its master after all. 

“They called a few days ago, I didn’t wanna worry you. I’m sorry, ‘Kashi.”

He stood in the center of chalked defeat, leaning against the unevenly standing table that rocked at its corner heels. He set the shelled helmet down on the cold wood with a soft knock, turning to face the younger but upon lifting his head, it dropped sullenly. 

“You can’t-”

Akaashi dreamed often. He saw good ones and bad ones, the kind that would make you want to stay in this headspace and ones that would make you want to return to the mortal world despite all the pains it gave. This was one of them right? It was just a dream, a nightmare scenario that had been the product of uncertainty and wavering passivity. He would wake up.

“It’s gonna be alright, nothing too bad.” Bokuto said in a tone that suggested he was trying to convince even himself that those fragile words would stand true.

“But-”  
  


There was a burn in his heart, and a cry at his lips. His tears beat the passive pleas, and flowed down his cheeks in crystal drops that would have been all but beautiful in the golden rays of the morning sun. He should not have cried, he should not have felt the way he did, but he was a product of what the universe deemed to be an irreversible experiment that was meant to test the limits of human sorrow, and they cackled in pleasure as their subject witnessed first hand the rules of the game which they had subjected him too. 

  
“I couldn’t stay even if I wanted to.” His voice was now no more than a whisper as he stroked the murky green sleeves of the ill-suited uniform, yet the words resoundedly shattered against his throat as they rolled out of his lips. It was coming from the gut, not the heart and they ebbed and flowed like the fires of the Phlegethon.   
  
“We could make your case to the Military Office, they have enough men anyway, you don’t need to go.” Akaashi said with fallacious confidence and surety that, he realized, could only account as useless rambling. It was desperate, it was anguished, it clung onto the cruel tick of distressed seconds, he choked on every word.

“Don’t cry, ‘Kashi. Please don’t cry. C’mere.”

The encompassing embrace should have been warm, it should have been firmly gentle, it should have made Akaashi’s nerves tingle with the heat of flamed passion, but it did none of the sort. It was cold, it was stiff, it felt like a good bye. But he sank into it, wondering if this was to be the terms in which they would see each other last, despairingly holding on to the golden thread which would only snap under the weight of their pleas.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.” The melody was soft, it carried on the clipped wind. His ears rang, his head throbbed, but he would recognize that song anywhere, simply because he had heard it on those Fridays under the stars, and on the scheduled program on the radio, and in those moments where it travelled on angelic praises. “But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day. Sing with me, ‘Kashi.”  
  
“Keep smiling through, just like you always do. Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.” 

And so they stood at the heart of the space that had once been for two, singing a song that was meant to comfort rather than dishearten and be a remembrance of hope rather than overlay despair. But maybe there was forgiveness through a sign that they would reunite one day, maybe they were allowed to hold out a little hope however bandaged they may be. 

Reality was set in stone, and there was no point in fighting. They both knew this, but they too wanted to believe that the future had not yet crystallized into permanence, that there was still a chance, no matter how small and flickering it may be, to stand under the molten gold of the vaulting horizon when the chaos had subsided and where they could be a little freer.

“Promise me something?” 

“What is it?” The other asked, without loosening the tight embrace.  
  
“Promise me we’ll meet again.”   
  


There was power in ideology, the kind that could pull in two kindred spirits who had not yet recognized that their love had gone past the point of casualty to the grasps of unfeasible logic and the belief that they were invincible in the face of the storm. Perhaps the idea of a painless future overtook their wistful minds, or that the notion that they could catch up with reality’s bullet train had clouded their better judgement. No promises made in war as they said, but this was their indomitable dream, was it not?

  
“I promise.” He whispered, stroking Akaashi’s hair as they swayed back and forth to the beat of the invisible melody. “When this is all over, when the skies are a little bluer and us a little happier, we’ll meet again.” 

“Sagitta always points home right?” He asked with mustered up levity, he did not want to leave on this impractically miserable note. That was one thing Akaashi loved about Bokuto, no matter the circumstances, he would always find some way to give your heart something to hold onto, even if it were glacially iced.  
  


He only gave a small nod, before being released from the embrace that he would have given anything to indulge in for just another second. It did not feel right letting go without a fight, it pained him, frankly, and his whole being trembled with regret at not being able to form the right words to plead with him to stay. But nothing could be done, and the finality further set in as the older gathered up his things, and approached the door with hesitation evident in his every move.

  
“Alright.” he said, turning back, golden eyes not as joyous and lively as they had been, gold swirling in a tempest rather than splaying in a calm shower. “See you when I see you, ‘Kashi-kun.”

And with that he turned the brass handle of the door that could have led him across oceans and land, to far off places that had little semblance to home. He never told Akaashi, but this act of self-exile was one for him more than anything, and the final burst of courage to take his leave had been fueled by the tears that flooded deep blue irises. 

As for the younger, the pain shattered him. How to react to this situation had never been taught, nor written nor said. The mere tortuous affliction that ebbed from imagining this unlikely happenstance was deterrent enough, alas unlikely and sorrow just seemed to fit the directions the architects had endowed in his being, and they laughed a cacophony at the new misfortune that had befallen on him. Whether Akaashi had heard the laughter was to be left a mystery, but as the door creaked shut, the space seemed to dim as the molten gold of the morning sun seeped out of the thinning opening.

  
  


_We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when._

_But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day._

* * *

Winter, December 1944

_Dec. 16, ‘44_

_Dear Bokuto-san,_

_Merry Christmas! I hope you liked the journal that I sent. It is so that you do not get lonely in case of delays in these letters. I also sent you some more chocolate since I hear rations are being limited._

_I sent this letter a little early in the hopes that this will reach you by the 25th. By then, it’ll be twenty days since I’ve turned 21, and it has not been fun aging a year older. It seems as if society’s expectations for you go up by a notch as you do and it’s quite annoying, don’t you think? I should probably stop talking about myself now_

_How are you? Your last letter was in the first week of November, but maybe it was just a delay in the post since travel along supply lines have been growing riskier by the day, and couriers would rather not endanger their lives more than they need to. I would write to you more often, but I have been limited for the very same reason._

_I hope this letter reaches you well. I hear conditions over there are harsh, and the winter is just bearing down, but I know this will not be much of a problem for you since you’ve always liked the frost. Just be careful not to get a cold, yes?_

_It is still strange for the apartment to be so quiet, even after almost 4 months of your absence. It just is not the same without you. I miss you, please come home soon._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Akaashi_

_P.S. They say Sagitta shines especially bright tonight._

* * *

_December 28, 1944_

_Dear ‘Kashi-kun,_

_I got your letter right on time, and I enjoyed the present you sent me. I wish I had something to send back in return, but all I could find was this flower. I hope the colors did not fade on the way there, but if it did, just know it was the nicest shade of red._

_It has been hard over here, the winter is not the same as it is back home, but I am still able to enjoy it. I have made some friends in my unit, so don’t worry I’m not alone. We are not allowed to say anything about troop movement or that sort in case this letter gets intercepted by the enemy, but all I can say is it does not look like we will be saying any combat anytime soon._

_I was able to see a glimpse of Sagitta, and it reminded me of home. I’ll try my best to come back soon._

_Bokuto_

* * *

It was funny to Akaashi. It had been long, too long since they had last spoken, yet Bokuto’s voice emanated from the letter, it was almost as if they were having a direct conversation, albeit quite snail-paced. But all-day communication had been reduced to this medieval form of exchange therefore it was more than the younger could have ever asked for.

At the bottom portion of the letter, as promised by its sender, sat a pressed flower. With faded red and with crumpled petals, it still radiated the fresh vibrancy that came from the valley that it had been picked from. Akaashi breathed in its dying scent that had tainted the creased paper. The messengers must have gone through a lot to get it delivered, the edges of the envelope had been singed and the letters slightly blotted, but it was invaluable, a lasting reminder that the ravages of war had not yet taken him.

And so with all the rest that had flown from distant lands and vast oceans, he placed the letter of gold in the box next to the ancient typewriter, careful to keep the papers it held as smoothened and neatly stacked as possible. There could have been five or ten inside, but there was still space for many more, and the darkness awaited to be filled by the surge of others that would come. 

He locked the box once again, determined to protect its contents from the outside world and his own ravaging thoughts of which neither side would benefit from. But, as he sat down at the desk to type a response, he found he could not do so. His fingers had frozen, his mind had come to a steering halt. It was at that moment where the weight of his misery finally caught up to him.

Tears fell, he had never taken himself for a frequent crier but the months had been hard on him, and his eyes had started to swim with crystal liquid ever more frequently. He stood up, determined not to wet any of his materials, and gazed out the window. Of course, the stars hid behind the cloudy wisps once again, and all he could do was plead for one to show a sign. As was with the attitude of the universal objects, it refused to come out, opting to stay vanished from the younger’s eyes. So, he did the next best thing. 

The door’s creak was probably worse than that of the front door, but it was to be expected considering it had not been open in weeks. The last time, if Akaashi could remember correctly, was when he did the weekly cleaning only to be unable to continue. He had not returned to the room since then.

But Bokuto’s quarters brought him comfort in times when he needed it because everything about it reminded him of its previous tenant. He had been avoiding entry in the fear that he would never be able to return, but he could no longer bear the weight of lone existence. He had grown up so used to Bokuto that being without him felt like he was a fish out of water.

Everything inside it was coated in a fine layer of dust, but one that would be easily dusted off in a few days when he did cleaning again. Other than that, everything had been left the way it was. Sheets neatly set, sideways rug no one had ever bothered to straighten, he did not check the closet but he was sure the tornado of loose clothing was still tucked inside. 

He’d taken all the pictures that had previously lined the shelves, most of which Akaashi had taken in his earlier years. He had treasured those almost as much as the letters, but he was glad he had taken him in the hopes that he would find some comforting semblance of normal life even in foreign battlefields. 

Circled stains bloomed in the dusty coating where salted tears had fallen, creating a mesmerizing pattern of rippled droplets. They trailed him as he walked through the space, peeking through the memories, brushing off the occasional dust bunny from unkept corners and crevices. The thing that pained him the most was not the recollection but the fact that it still radiated off him, even when he was long gone. 

He was so enamored in his unfortunate world, he bumped into the desk which creaked with the sudden force. A single paper fell off its top, and Akaashi rushed to grab it, berating himself for being so clumsy. The neat script was recognizable enough, it was Bokuto’s. The contents dated back to more than a year ago, but were left unfinished. Akaashi normally did not like eavesdropping into his business, he had always respected boundaries, but the short message scrawled on read for itself.

  
  


_November 15, 1943_

_Keiji,_

_I love you. I always have._ ~~_Will you let me love you?_ ~~

  
  


* * *

Spring, April 1945

_Apr 22, ‘45_

_Dearest Bokuto-san,_

_I know I mention this a lot but I could not help but notice how beautiful Sagitta was tonight, and it reminded me of that night we went to see it last last November, was it? Much time has flown since then. It reminded me of you too. Frankly, the stars have not shined as brightly as when you were here looking at them with me. I hope that it is just me, and that they are glistening because I would like to take comfort knowing that you are looking at them the same as me._

_I have not been receiving as many letters from you, and I suppose they are getting lost in the recent traffic. They are reporting that packages are being lost on the way to their destinations much more frequently than before. The situation over here is worse, but not too bad. There was another raid a few kilometers into the countryside and we are yet to receive proper reports of what had happened._

_I heard that song you like on the radio, We’ll Meet Again, though I’m not sure if you have listened to it recently. I hope you have, it’s been in my head lately._

_I’ve babbled on long enough. Please tell me how you are doing in your next letter, I want to know. I’m waiting for you here, please come home soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Akaashi._

_P.S. Atsumu-san sends his best regards._

  
  


* * *

_April 30, 1945_

_Dear ‘Kashi-kun,_

_It has been overcast these past few weeks thus I have not been able to glimpse Sagitta._

_I am doing as well as you can be over here. Conditions are getting worse, but I will indulge in the memory of seeing spring back home to keep me company. A friend of mine who will stay nameless was picked off the other day by a sniper. It was awful watching him fall to the ground._

_I do remember the song, I have not heard it in a while, but the hymn was so beautiful, I will never be able to forget. I’d like to hear it again one day._

_Our commander says to keep letters short these days since it might put you in danger if the enemy gets a hold of them so please understand._

  
  


_Bokuto_

_P.S. Send Atsumu-san my regards as well._

  
  


* * *

It was not a beautiful day, quite the opposite rather. An overcast still hung from the storm that had rolled in the night before. Water still seeped through the seams of the window, pooling on the floor much to Akaashi’s annoyance, yet that was not the main focus of his attention.

His fingers weighed heavy on the keys of the typewriter, the letter he had sent had felt incomplete, and looking at the response, it too seemed to lack something, but what? Of course, as he looked to the unfinished love letter, he knew the answer, but his heart had been too heavy to ask about it in his last correspondence. He did not expect Bokuto to address it independently, either.

It had been five months since the weight had been placed on his shoulders, and he could only bear to think of asking his former roommate about it, but always opting to leave it out of these letters in the end. Yet, his feelings lay rampant in the shell that was his being. What did it mean? Was it a cruel joke, or was it heartfelt? Did he still love him?

Akaashi had never been good with emotions, and this happenstance only served as proof of this. He thought he had always been good at discerning others as well, especially Bokuto, but now he was not so sure. He had never noticed the signs of longing or affection, he had always been the best friend or the reliable roommate, nothing more and nothing less. 

But had it been possible that at one point in their shared history, Bokuto had learned to love him beyond that? It was surely a possibility, but the crossed out question and signless ending suggested that that love had dissipated, or perhaps had been given to someone else. As he looked down to the empty space at the bottom of the letter, he could not help but wonder what would have happened if the unfinished letter had reached its recipient. His tumultuous train of thought was interrupted by an abrupt knock at the door.

“It’s you.”

It would be a lie if Akaashi were to say he was not disappointed. It would also be a lie if he were to say his blood did not boil at the mere sight of Miya Atsumu standing in his doorway. It would especially be a lie if he said he was not expecting someone else to be in his place.

  
“Can I come in?” Atsumu asked. This time he did not seem so put together.   
  
“Why are you here?”   
  
Atsumu looked him up and down, apparently unsure of what to make of this conversation turned aggressive and slightly irritated confrontation. “You look like hell, ‘Kashi-kun.”   
  
“Akaashi-kun. Only one person calls me that and-”

He almost choked right there and then, his words had mangled and tripped over their own syllabilic feet. That nickname of his had not been uttered in months, and hearing it brought back hurtful nostalgia that only served to burn away at his already bruised heart.

“Would it surprise you that I was actually worried?” Atsumu asked carefree, yet with layers of irritation bound beneath it.  
  
“And why would you be worried about me?” In all truth, Akaashi could not think of one reason why Atsumu would be worried about him of all people. Of course, it was probably due to someone they had in common, but even then would the divide seem to run only deeper, especially in light of recent events which he decided would remain unsaid.   
  
“Kita-san told me you’ve been slacking off at work, says that you’re just stressed about all the things going on with the war. I’m never one to insult his claims, but I’m guessing he’s wrong.” 

In all his years working with Kita, he had never heard him once mention the irritable person standing in his doorway. The initial revelation that they had known each other for longer than Akaashi had known either of them was a shock in itself, but daily conversations had taken his surprise to the next level.

“This is about Bokkun, isn’t it?” He said as he strolled through the open door way.

Akaashi locked the door behind him. If there were to be an incident, he did not want his neighbors interfering. “So you’ve come to insult me, to taunt me over the fact that he loved you more than me?”

But by this time, the whole situation had grown into a gobsmacked mess. There were more questions than answers and more speculation than certainty. Too much was there a lack of trust, and more a surety that both sides had holes in their information that only the other could fill. This was only proven further when Atsumu’s expression went from mustered up annoyance to complete horrified dishevelment.

“Wha-Is that what you think because I told you, we never dated. It was a casual friendship, nothing more.” He sputtered out.  
  
Akaashi could have savored this moment for the rest of his days. The photo-worthy expression on Atsumu’s face was priceless, even if there was nothing that could be achieved from this meeting, at least he would have this to remember. “That’s not what he seemed to think.” He said, not bothering to cover the accusatory tone that flowed and ebbed through every word.   
  
“I didn’t know.”   
  
“You led him on, Atsumu-san. You made him think that that casual friendship was growing into something that could be likened more to companionship.” Akaashi snarled. It was uncharacteristic of him, but losing control was fitting for a situation like this.   
  
“That was never my intention.”   
  
“Whether that was your intention or not, there is nothing we can do. He left because of you, did you know that? No, of course you would not. You never took him for anything more than a close acquaintance, after all. Have you even spoken to him since he left?”

It was unfair, he knew it was but the crimson rage that coursed through his body felt good. It burned and ravaged, yes, but it was warm, it was fiery, he felt empowered and free like he had not in years. It gave him a sense of purpose when he had lost all he had, even if that purpose was to pummel the living shit out of Miya Atsumu.

“Look, Akaashi-kun. I have no idea what the fuck you’re accusing me of, but if they have any truth to them, I sure as hell didn’t know about it. As for rubbing it in your face, no. I came here as a friend. I’m worried about him the same as you are, ok? He hasn’t returned any of my letters.”

It was a rare display of vulnerability. He did not radiate the same smugness or irritation that he had been only seconds before. His eyes did not glint the same, his lips fumbled at every protruding pronunciation, his fingers did not indulge in the same fluttering motions he was known for. It was almost pitifully strange, and a sight that gave Akaashi hope that he was still somewhat human.

Akaashi took a seat by the shaky table, hands folded to meet his chest. “How’s Sakusa-kun?”

Atsumu looked at him incredulously. Akaashi was not as passively naive as he was often taken to be. As it turned out, a few people knew about a certain romance that had begun years before and it was not impossible inquiring on the vaguest details. He did feel bad, but he justified it by thinking that the nature of this acquisition was much more for research than entertainment’s blackmail.

“You’re not the only resourceful one.” 

“Well, if you were as resourceful as you think, you would have known I haven’t seen him in a year.” He said, head cocked and teeth gritted as if he did not know whether or not to lash out and punch the man who had settled before him, or turn on his heel and leave abruptly. He decided to do neither.

It seemed the day’s surprises were not yet finished. “I did not know.” He said, ultimately berating himself for bringing up such a topic. He watched as pain danced behind brown eyes and the longing of one who had not seen their lover in years’ past translated into a momentous faraway gaze before its owner forcibly snapped back to reality.

“Guess we’re even now.” He murmured, still not bothering to take the seat opposite of Akaashi.

The silence that had anchored itself in this once lively space decidedly hung around for quite some time, the only disruptions being the rocking of the table’s uneven legs and the shuffling of feet. Quiet was his element, Akaashi lived for moments where the outside world did not bring her evil graces into his life, but the stillness was deafening, and he could go no longer harboring the winds that painted the scene with crimson tranquility.

“How did you do it?” He asked, suddenly to both of their surprises.   
  
“Do what?”   
  
“Defy society.” He said with no context given whatsoever, to which he knew none was needed.

Atsumu’s expression softened. Was it pity he had surrendered to, or did he see himself in this young troubled mind? Either way, he headed for the front door without a single moment of recollection before speaking. “When you love someone enough, you learn to let go of everything, and you realize that anarchy doesn’t seem so bad if it’s for them.” He shrugged before turning the brass knob and wading into the deep waters of the unknown.

* * *

Summer, July 1945

_Jul 20, ‘45_

_Dearest Bokuto-san,_

_It has been a while since I have written to you, and in all honesty, I had not noticed how much time had flown by._

_How are you? The last letter I received from you was from the first week of June. I suppose I am partially to blame for that, aren’t I? They say the war may finally end soon, that an armistice is being formed. This is but a rumor of course, but it does give me hope of seeing you once again. It is still such an irony though, even after a promotion to vice-communication supervisor in the region, I still do not know all that goes on. I sometimes see this as a failure of my duties, but many have assured me that this is just the nature of bureaucratic business._

_I found_ _A few months ago_ _Why?_ _I must confess something of which I have been too cowardly to admit until now. I found a note on your desk, and I think you know what I speak of. I do not want to infer any assumptions, but please, give me an explanation? Nothing that you say will change the way I perceive you.;_

_Best Wishes,_

_Akaashi._

  
  


* * *

He had not planned on writing it so soon, but the months had only caused his grief to pile up in a dangerously careening stack. It was a desperate move on his part, he had resolved to waiting until Bokuto had gotten back, but the raging tempest in his head all but caused him to abandon the meticulously constructed plan, only subsiding for sense to come in until it was already placed in the community mail box.

Perhaps he had been emboldened by his chat with his purposed rival. He did have strange ways of expressing certain emotions, and there was no doubt in his mind this was another one of those misinterpreted manifestations. Yet, as he waded through the heat and bitter winds, the only thing that he was certain of now was the letter would reach Bokuto, and that their fate was in his hands now.

He waited for months, but he never got a reply back.

* * *

Fall, September 1945

  
  


_Sept 2, ‘45_

_Dearest Bokuto-san,_

_The war has officially ended. An armistice was formed a few days ago, and the news of this being released this morning._

_I hear troop movement will be a slow enterprise, but they have assured me that there is nothing to worry about since no more active combat is to take place._

_You never replied to my last letter. I’m sorry if I phrased it quite like that, and I do regret my decision now. I hope you are well as this letter reaches you, and I pray that nothing I had said or implied in the past will make you doubt my desire for you to come home soon. There is much to talk about when you return, but dissipate with the dread if there is any. I love you, Bokuto-san, that will not change._

_Please come home soon._

_With all my love,_

_Akaashi_

  
  


* * *

A stray piece of confetti fluttered in through the open window. His neighbors were dumping boxes full of the paper onto the streets below where festivities ran through the streets. The trumpets and drums that paraded through the city filled the air with a warm sense of solace. It was a momentous occasion, of course, but it was one he would not allow himself to indulge in until he had written out his letter.

The confessional phrase stared back at him, and he could not help but return its steely gaze. Had he done the right thing? What if this would only serve to scare him away more? The world was a gambler’s paradise that way, the outcome of every move no matter how calculated laid in the hands of Lady Luck herself, and Akaashi was not sure if he had made the proper offerings as of late.

But whatever the case may be, the sheer euphoria of the bloodiest conflict known to mankind ending had overtaken his being. Now, no matter what anyone could have said, he would have done anything for the one who was not present. He would have proclaimed his love from the rooftops, and strewn the fields with fiery red if Bokuto had asked him that much. 

Akaashi could not hear him, but he hoped that wherever Bokuto was, whether he still considered him a friend or not, he too was celebrating, and making his way home.

* * *

_XX XXX XXXX_

_Dearest ‘Kashi-kun,_

_I hope this reaches you well._

_I admit the past few months have been troubling for me. I had never intended for you to find my half-written letter, much less read it, but as you ask for an explanation, I will give you one. I don’t know when or where it started, but I had come to realize a long time ago that I loved you, ‘Kashi. It was also then when I realized that you probably did not share the same sentiments as I did, but curse hope because I did not let go until my heart learned to love another to which of course, it was broken again._

_I’m sorry, ‘Kashi, the recruiter never called, I always had a choice. I volunteered to leave home on my own free will, not because of a sense of obligation or a necessity to be drafted but because of my selfishness to forget about the pain in my heart. I was not thinking straight, I did not think about what would become of you or anyone else if I left. I’m sorry._

_I am on assignment, and not much communication comes out of my unit. It will be a while till I am able to send back another letter._ _I hope_

_If you decide to wait for me till I come home, I promise you, I will make it all up to you, and we will meet again._

_All my love,_

_Koutarou_

* * *

Winter, January 1946

_We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when_

_But I know we'll meet again some sunny day._

  
  


“Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi dreamed often. He saw good ones and bad ones, the kind that would make you want to stay in this headspace and ones that would make you want to return to the mortal world despite all the pains it gave. This was one of them right? It was just a dream, a perfect scenario almost too good to be true. This was one he did not want to wake up from.

  
  


_Keep smiling through, just like you always do_

_Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away._

  
  


The sun streamed into the room, golden rays showered the space as both stood in shock, not believing their eyes as they saw the other in front of them. Akaashi stayed unmoving, his legs would not allow him too, the blood ran dry and thoughts too rapid to process. Bokuto, on the other hand, battered from years of hardened combat, but radiating warmth and lively vivacity all the same, ran up and scooped him into a tight hug, a scene reminiscent of an ill-fated departure that had taken place in the exact space years before.

“I promised, didn’t I?” He whispered gently as he stroked his hair, awaking the other from his dazed shock.

  
  


_So will you please say Hello, to the folks that I know_

_Tell them I won't be long._

  
  


Akaashi surrendered to the warmth and comfort and lively vivacity, he surrendered it all to the indomitable dream that was no longer a dream, but a willed happenstance that brought not two friends, but star-crossed lovers together over miles of land and vast oceans.

“I’m sorry.”  
  
The younger looked at him in clear bewilderment. “For what?” He asked with a tone of mixed wonder and uncertainty.

“For making you watch me fall in love with someone else.” Bokuto said, tears sparkling as they welled up in his eyes. It was an unbearable sight, out of place but real all the same. Akaashi reached over and cupped his face, wiping away the stray crystals that fell.

“You came home, that’s all that matters now.” He whispered gently. They had surpassed Hellion’s war and the tempestuous storm, they had been indomitable in the face of the universe’s architects, they had walked on this earth without the purpose of surviving for the sake of self-preservation. They conquered it all to live for each other, and they would do it over and over again, but this time, neither would be alone. 

_They'll be happy to know, that as you saw me go_

_I was singing this song._

  
  


“Thank you.” 

Two had an indomitable dream, one that should have been vanquished at its arrival at the firmamental gates, but they had a dream that was so irreparably persistent, it outlasted all the rocks and stones that the architects had thrown, who could only begrudgingly leave them at their peace.

Two had an indomitable dream that had gone above and beyond the odds, that had traced the archer’s arrow across the night sky, and with the flick of a wrist, had rewritten the stars to their liking. And with that, in the sun’s molten gold, they stood in each other’s arms, bound with hope and willful love, fulfilling the promise they had made years before.

  
  


_We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when_

_But I know we'll meet again some sunny day._

* * *

Spring, April 20XX

“Akaashi-san?”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

The studio’s lights seared into the back of his eyes, the white blinding anyone who dared challenge its luminosity, but it was not the startling radiance that made his eyes flutter rapidly nor his head throb like it had not in the past few months. He drummed the couch’s arm nervously. He was never one for the limelight, if anything, he had done his very best to live in seclusion, but he had resigned himself to indulging in this televised discussion. 

“Your latest novel, your twelfth actually which will be released on the 4th of May, it is titled World Walk.” The man opposite him repeated. His pressed suit crinkled, shadows hiding in the folds of the midnight black fabric. He was well put together, experienced, but ever so often, as if surrendering to the light, his face gave a slightly awestruck expression whenever he looked back to his guest, for whatever reason. 

“Yes, and it’s not just my twelfth book, it’s my last.” Akaashi said, folding graceful hands withered and callused from years of telling stories at the typewriter, and ones that bore one too many scars than he would have liked to admit.

The correspondent bowed down and nodded in disappointment. “So there is some truth to the rumor.”

“I’ve lived past my years. It’s time I let my heart live in peace.” He said with a beaming smile that looked almost contentedly passive, but the storm that grew wild in the mind of the boy had never quite dissipated from that of the man’s. It ebbed and flowed in a controlled stream, hurling the occasional thought boulder to wear down the shaky mental walls that held together threaded sanity. There was one thing Akaashi was grateful for in this scenario, his elderly mind ran much slower than it had in his youth. 

The other man nodded in seeming agreement before glancing back at the sheet of prepared questions the writer’s team had prepared for this interview. They knew his mind was a fragile one, however rattled with age it may have been, and a single off-inquiry could send it into a hard fall downwards. “You are renowned for your works in fiction, metafiction and such, but this is your first autobiographical work.”

“Mhm, it is a bit of a diversion from my usual style, isn’t it?” He asked no one in particular. “But it means more to me than any other could.”“I can see why, this is perhaps one of the rawest pieces of literature I have ever read. World Walk is about, well it’s about you. It is a very detailed account focused on your youth, specifically your life during the war, yes?”

He gave a curt nod, bracing himself for the events that were to follow. Of course, he had dismissed those attempts at shielding him from “psychologically marring” questions, as his PR team liked to call it. They often underestimated his mental stability, probably taking the considerably sharp mind as ever senile. 

“Well, it was a beautiful story overall, but early readers have been particularly moved by the last chapter which I would like to focus on in this interview.”

He flipped to the last few pages of the book. The chapter was relatively longer, Akaashi had wanted to give emphasis to the story it retold no matter the. “Chapter Nine which you have titled “We’ll Meet Again”. It is a rare glimpse into your life at an especially tumultuous time. You claimed to your publisher that this was perhaps the most painful part to write. Would you mind telling us why that is when it ended so happily?”

“Happiness is such an enigmatic misguidance, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry?”

He pushed the bridge of his glasses up, shielding his eyes behind the reflective lenses. He supposed he had never learned a seamless way to bar the rise of the lump of dread in his throat. “You were right about one thing, Ozanaki-san, I am known for my works of fiction. You, too, said that this is my first work of an autobiographical sort, but who is to say that this too was not just another woven fable?”

“I am not following.”

“Eight chapters I was able to tell rather painlessly, but the ninth, the one you have opened in your hands, I am sure you have read it.” His tone was raw, ricocheting, every high and low and phonetic syllable mixed with sordid emotion that could be gleaned from merely being in the presence of its reverberations.

“Yes, I have.” The other nodded dutifully, smoothing the crinkled edges of the page in apparent confusion and rightfully so. This was not in any script he had been given, nor was it a commonality for the interviewer themselves to be surprised at any faulty technicality presented to them in a show. 

“Would it bother you if I told you that was all but false?” 

His smile was peaceful, but his voice fleshed out every emotion that was running through his head. That was another thing he thought of as a self-flaw, he had never been good at hiding emotions, even for the sake of the salvation of dignity. From all the years of reality’s pain and chains, it should have come as a surprise when his heart could not still at mere command, and his ducts could not stop the welling of tears behind often unreadable eyes.

“Koutarou left on the morning of the 4th of September, 1944, and the contents of the letter I received in 1945 was that much truthful. After that…well, everything after was a figment of my imagination if you would.” The storm had once again started to rage, but it was not a whirlwind of thoughts this time around. They were memories of the past, and the pain, and the years that had left him shattered. There were dreams too, full of wonder and wistfulness and held-out hopes and bandaged dreams for the future that had already passed.

“The truth was he never made it home from the war. He died two days before it ended on some nameless field, fighting a battle he had no belief in.” 

The room had gone silent, mouths gaped open, all eyes trained on him. Akaashi did not like the limelight, but he would gladly indulge in this if it meant the world finally knew what happened. “Accounts of the battle showed it to be a scene of pure chaos, and that in itself was a deterrent of any meaningful identification of the dead which is why it took so long for confirmation to be passed by which time-” 

The weight of his own words choked the air from his lungs. It was an irony, words were all a writer ever had, and not being able to express them should have been the greatest volatility. “By which time I had waited for a year for the warmth of a shattered ghost to return home.”

His throat burned, his whole body grew heavy, even the rapid drumming of his fingers had stopped. His tongue, coated in lead, dared not speak, but words continued to flow from cracked lips. “It was an irony really, how I had spent all my days waiting for him, reshaping my life into a temple for him only to have the marbled floors crumble and pillars come crashing down. I suppose it is true what they say, no promises made in war.” Reflections off the pair of thin glasses turned tears into kaleidoscopic rainbows, and turned the pained display into an almost beautiful sorrow. ”Because he promised me he would come back, he promised we would meet again.”

* * *

Winter, January 1947

There was a rapid knock at the door which was in itself, strange to Akaashi. Not many people liked to come by this area, and it was a rarity for anyone to come specifically for him. That much intrigued him into abandoning his developing manuscript to hurriedly walk to the front door. 

“Akaashi-san?” The man before him asked. Akaashi recognized him instantly.

“Sakusa-kun?”

“May I come in?” He asked politely. He was much more beautiful than Akaashi cared to admit. It had already been established in his mind, of course, after stealing a glimpse at the photograph, although even then did the print not do him justice. Akaashi wondered how he had come to date someone like Miya Atsumu.

“So, how did you find me?” He asked curiously. This neighborhood had purposely been picked to avoid the scrutinous attention that came with everyday life. After the years of bombarded noise and unquilted motion, he would have liked to earn a little peace to himself.  
  
“Living in a semi-rural area didn’t help, but the Office tracked your publisher.” Sakusa shrugged indifferently. He seemed to be inspecting the carpet and was making a face doing so. Perhaps there was something odd about this one too, he just hid it better than most.

Akaashi smiled with tired eyes, he had been doing so a lot these days. There was no more reason to frown or cry or pout. The war was over, and with it went the agonizing distaste. “So it was my book that led you here?”

Just then, the rapid pitter patter of small feet bounding towards them filled the air, and the figure of a lively dog rounded the corner, hurtling towards the newcomer, undoubtedly curious as to the nature of this pleasant intrusion.

“Hoshi, c’mere. No harassing guests remember?” Akaashi laughed, beckoning the ball of fur and energy to him. His fur was spotted with mud and leaves from playing in the backyard only moments before. He was unsure how he had been able to come into the house, Akaashi was sure he had closed the doors, but his animal companion was a lot smarter than he led on.

Sakusa’s eye ticked at the sight of the puppy bounding up to meet them. He did not keel over on the spot, but there were signs in his behaviorism that showed the telltale signs of aversion. “You have a dog named Hoshi?” He asked as his shoes were sniffed and slobbered on. Akaashi quickly scooped the Akita in his arms who nuzzled him diligently before being deposited into the next room.  
  
“Yes, it was a dream of Koutarou’s. This is about him, yes?” Akaashi asked the other with expectant eyes. This was the moment he had been waiting for, he was coming home.   
  


But instead of an expression of calmed relief, the kind that would ease your worry, Sakusa’s ghostly paled ever so slightly. He smoothed over the creases on his coat before he spoke in a heavy tone more reminiscent of a pallbearer’s speech. “Yes, um. When was the last time you heard from him?”  
  
Akaashi thought back to the last line of communication. It had been longer than he realized, many months he supposed. “Not in a while, more than a year and a half maybe. He sent a letter a few months after the war ended saying he was on assignment. He wouldn’t be able to make contact for a bit, is that correct?” He asked as he motioned for them to sit down in the living room.   
  
Sakusa nodded in thanks to the kind gesture. “When was the letter dated?” He asked with a pitiful expression forming on his face. Akaashi could not see the reason for this.   
  
“The letter was not in the best quality, the date had been smudged off.” He stated, fingers drumming on the couch’s seat in an attempt to dispel the nervous energy. A surge like this had not run through his veins in a while, he himself could not even place why it had started again, but something about the situation he had been vaulted into seemed ominous enough to warrant. “Why?”   
  
You could have counted to five before Sakusa learned to breathe again. “Ah.” was all he said as he lifted his steely gaze from his opposite.

“Is something wrong?” Akaashi’s heart was pounding against his ribs, he had not a single thought as to the situation that had or was unfolding before his very eyes. Sakusa glanced back at him, unable to meet his eyes as he spoke.

“Akaashi-san, listen.” He said, his voice seemingly lined with lead and heavy as the words rolled off chapped lips. “There is no lighthearted way of saying this, so I will make this straight to the point. Bokuto-san is dead.”

And just like that, the world seemed to tilt off its axis, but to Akaashi, it was like the ground had been slipped from under his feet. His heart must have stopped beating, fading from crimson red to midnight blue, lungs stoned over, refusing to constrict leaving him gasping and breathless. He had not expected this, he had predicted none of this. Thoughts started to swirl and simmer over as he sought to find a comprehensible answer to this wicked conundrum.

“Wha-? When? Was it his assignment?” He mumbled somewhat incoherently. His fingers too laid stiff, unable to move from the weight of leaden sorrow.  
  
Sakusa shook his head solemnly, shooting him down. “No, he died a few days before the armistice in the last major battle of the war.” He said, pity replacing the aversion he had displayed earlier. Suppose, he was just as surprised as he was.

“The letter-”

“He sent it out the night before he was killed. It was probably delayed due to courier traffic and troop movement.” Sakusa explained, hands spread out, twitching ever so slightly as if unsure whether to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder or to complete back off. He did not know if he could even offer any comfort at this time.  
  
“That’s not possible. You have no proof.” Akaashi said. He was in full denial, this was a dream, a nightmare he would soon wake up from. None of this was actually happening, he told himself as he rocked back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, pushing the rancid thoughts from his mind.   
  
“I was there, Akaashi-san.”   
  
Blue eyes flew open in surprise. “You served with him?”   
  
Sakusa nodded uncomfortably, the memory of wartime gone past seemingly disturbed him more than he let on to most. “For a few weeks. He kept letters in his vest pocket, never said who they were from but he said that he had promised the sender that they’d meet again. It was you, wasn’t it?”   
  
Akaashi did not have the heart to even give a meek nod to answer the inquiry. His mind was racing, he had regained his ability to breathe but it was ragged and shallow. “A body-?”   
  
“We were ordered to evacuate immediately after. They did not allow us to salvage the dead.” 

If he was in his right state of mind, Akaashi would have been able to go on with the questioning. He might have even hoped that the office had been mistaken, that there was a misidentification. He wanted to believe that his Koutarou was still somewhere out there, walking the Earth with the same light and warmth he radiated, the one that he translated into fated action and love-lined movement, but the more reality set in, the more keen his mind became at accepting it. Whether his heart would do the same was difficult to predict.

  
  
“I am truly sorry, Akaashi-san. I wish it could have gone differently.” Sakusa said, standing up and heading towards the door in an effort to show himself out. He glanced back a few times just to make sure the other had not sent himself into a state of hysteria in those few seconds he had turned away.

As for Akaashi, it was his love for one Bokuto Koutarou that had driven him all these months without him. It was that hope that he still loved him, it was that wistful wish that drove him to believe that despite the odds, despite what the universe would throw at them, that he would come home and that they would be one. 

A small part of himself still chants that promise like a prayer, even if he knows it will never come into fruition. 

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.

**Author's Note:**

> that's the end hope you liked it :D 
> 
> comments and thoughts are greatly appreciated but if you want to scream at me somewhere else  
> Twitter: @sakuspvce


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